


DreamTime

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode: s03e01 Warriors, Incorporeal Sex, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-12-17
Updated: 1997-12-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything's cool in dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DreamTime

The incubus prowled at night. It clawed its way into Jim's dreams, twisting and shredding young desire, mending it with ancient fear. In self-defense, Jim shoved even the thought of it away, pulled tight into himself, shutting every door and crack he could find, fighting to keep the incubus out.

He tore himself from sleep, his sheets now inlaid with sweat, his head pounding and cock hard in the bare moonlight. He shuddered and trembled; he felt frozen, as if shutting that dream door had shut out all potential warmth, enclosing passion in ice-bound walls. Cold, rational thought overlaid the heat of dreams as Jim climbed out of bed to make coffee, the way he had every night this past week.

He stumbled onto the stairs, his eyes bleary, and stopped as the living room couch came into sight.

Incacha died there.

The pain of that memory haunted him, roiling under the surface, constant but ignorable. Over it, another memory ground at him, each iteration leaving him bone-weary and soul-tired as he worried at the image in his mind: Sandburg's arm gripped by Incacha's bloody hand, the red steaks haunting the pale skin, marking Blair in some sort of sacrificial way.

The door he'd labored to shut burst open at the thought, filling his mind with the scent of dreams. It was the same scene that replayed in his mind, night after night, getting worse each time. Blair always took Incacha's place, and looked at Jim with those clear, blue eyes, repeating the words "You will not be alone."

Then Sandburg vanished, leaving the incubus to fill the void instead.

Jim grimaced and twisted his head, shutting his eyes tightly, as if he could close that door purely by force of will. In his mind he could see it -- feel it -- stepping out of the jungle for him, wrapping itself around his body, and tearing away the skin. He could feel it moving inside him, fucking him while it ripped open his chest and pulled out his still-beating heart.

Blood and pain poured though him like a waterfall, and the incubus laughed, blue eyes as cold as a mountain lake, hard as a mountain top. Its voice mocked him as Jim came despite the pain. "You will not be alone."

The scent of warm, dark-roasted coffee suddenly filled his mind and anchored him, a talisman against the dreams. Jim's heart thudded painfully, almost lurching within his chest as he fought the memories back down, and locked the feelings away. The nagging ache finally receded enough that he was able to open his eyes and see the loft once again, the banister clenched so hard his fingers felt numb.

He glanced at the kitchen. The automatic coffee maker had kicked on, something it wasn't supposed to do for several hours yet. Blair must have bumped the timer when he put the filter in last night.

Jim shook his head, not really understanding -- or caring -- what had happened, wishing only that he could get some sleep.

Maybe he should tell Sandburg about this...

He kicked himself for even thinking that. The kid needed his sleep as it was; no point in embarrassing himself by waking Blair up just to discuss some weird-ass dream. Besides, did he *really* want to go through a bunch of tests again?

With a slight shudder, he pushed the emotional remnants of the dream away, continuing down the stairs for yet another cup of coffee.

* * *

The creak of a board, and Blair's eyes flew open, his heart pounding, ready for the next thing to happen -- only silence filled the loft.

He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face, calming himself. Fear and panic were constant companions lately, and it was *really* fucking with his sleep. Jim didn't seem to have the same problem, proclaiming every morning how well he'd slept whenever Sandburg even started to whine.

He curled his arms around his still-blanketed legs, and plopped his chin onto his knees, trying to goad himself into alertness. Something about the shaman's death had been a match, igniting a spark in the methane pit of Blair's subconscious mind. He hadn't slept a full night since then, tossing and turning with the intensity of the dreams, but each time he'd awaken, the visions remained jumbled and indistinct, quickly torn apart. He couldn't tell a panther from a petunia by the time daylight arrived, and that wasn't doing anybody any good.

At least his nightmares didn't wake Ellison. Otherwise, his protective streak the size of I-5 lately, Jim would have been in Sandburg's room every damn night, trying to talk with him about what was going on -- and Blair really had no idea. Didn't even know where to start, there were so many reasons for him to have screwed up his alpha state and the drop-off to dream land.

He swung his legs off the bed and grabbed his boxers, thought about pulling them on, and then tossed them onto the bed. Scrubbing at his face with his hands and finger-combing his hair, he ignored how rotten he felt as he tried to put some coherent thoughts together. He'd get some coffee and try a meditation first, see if he could come up with something.

Desperation had made him try a 'lucid dreaming' routine last night, one he'd learned from Naomi's friends. Fat lot of good that had done him. He figured if he could get this stuff down on paper, maybe then it would tell him what he needed to know. But if the proof was in the pudding, the whole lucid dreaming idea was a bust. For the life of him, Blair could not recall what he'd been thinking the moment before he opened his eyes, only that it had been urgent. He took a deep, relaxing breath and closed his eyes again, trying to recapture the moment, but fuck it, it was gone. It was just gone.

Blair opened his eyes, resigned to another restless night. He'd piss, get a glass of water, and then crawl into bed. Meditation could wait; he needed to get some sleep. He stood and stretched, scratched his pubic hair, yawned, and then scratched again under his arms. Man, if he planned on going, he'd better go soon. The place was *cold* tonight.

As soon as he stepped through the door, Blair froze.

He wasn't alone.

He sank against the wooden frame and slapped his palm against his forehead. Well, *duh.* Where did he think Jim had gone in the middle of the night? Sandburg frowned and shook his head in puzzlement, wondering at himself. Why did he expect himself to be alone right now, and why did Jim's presence seem like such a weird idea? It wasn't like Jim didn't live here, for Christ sake. The man *owned* the fucking loft.

Blair faked nonchalance, while Jim wandered in the darkened kitchen and poured a cup of fresh-brewed coffee, ignoring the naked man across the island from him. Confused, expecting at least a minor reprimand or a glance that said 'put something on', Blair got zip reaction from his partner. Lounging against the wall next to his room, arms crossed over his chest, Blair turned to watch as Jim passed by on his way to the balcony windows, cup clenched tightly in one hand. It looked like a routine that had been going on for awhile now, too 'normal' for this to be just tonight.

Following Jim around the corner into the living room, Blair leaned against the wall that backed onto his bedroom, the light finally good enough to see the tiredness etched on Jim's face. It looked like Ellison hadn't been sleeping lately. In fact, maybe Jim had been lying to him all along, not telling Blair stuff so 'the kid' wouldn't be worried.

Blair softly pounded the living room wall with the back of his fist, his gaze tracking Jim's restless movements from window to couch to kitchen and back again. Yeah, that sounded like Ellison all right. Cut off his nose rather than have anyone think something was wrong. Jim's puttering drifted toward him and Blair straightened, figuring Ellison wanted to talk, but Jim veered sharply away and back to the windows again.

Realization crashed over Blair that Jim was completely unaware of his presence, yet he wasn't exactly zoned out. He moved with an awareness of his surroundings, his movements no more uncoordinated than anyone's at butt-fucking early in the morning, yet nothing about Blair's presence seemed to be registering. It was like part of him had shutdown --

For a moment, Blair panicked. Had Jim's powers fritzed on him again?

Immediately, Jim cocked his head, listening intently, momentarily looking like Nipper, the RCA dog, and Blair smiled. Nope, looked like Jim's hearing still worked, that was a relief.

Strange though it was, he was grateful that Jim remained so unaware of his presence; he never got a chance to watch Jim unobserved like this, so open, so vulnerable, and so -- well -- hot was the only term that sprang to mind.

Jim glowed -- he just glowed -- as he stood half-naked in his boxers, bathed in the restless pre-dawn light. The muscles in his arm flexed and moved like molten gold as he raised his coffee cup to his lips, his body angled to see over the high-rises to the bay beyond, putting his profile in sharp relief. Blair caught himself sighing -- again -- and kicked himself for giving in to this stupid, unrequited passion. But Jim looked like some goddamned renaissance painting, his body illustrated with pride and love, greeting the new day.

Blair shook his head, trying to ignore the little pit in his stomach that wanted Jim to look at him like that, instead of wasting it on the dawn. He unfolded his arms and straightened, startled as he realized just how tired Jim was. Weariness poured off him, the pain of a man refusing to share his burden, and Blair needed to reach out. Jim was still gorgeous -- part man, part god -- and it kindled a spark of desire, but the need to soothe the pain was greater than the lure of sex. He crept to where Jim stood -- in the coldest part of the room it seemed, despite the oddly brilliant light -- but the Sentinel was still oblivious to Blair's presence. Blair reached to touch the bare shoulders, to stroke the ropy muscles of Jim's back and arms, only to pull suddenly away, lust flaring within him. Blair gritted his teeth and turned away, trying to shelve his physical passion for a moment. This wasn't a fight he wanted to have right now, the need for intimacy versus the need for sex; he could just stay away.

Yeah, right.

His cock thunked across his thighs, almost pointing straight up at the sight of Jim's ass.

Pigs could fly too; those guys were noted for their ability to defy the laws of gravity.

Blair took a deep breath, trying to control his thoughts, trying not to think about Jim, trying to think of something else.

Like...anything...polar bears.

Or Jim and polar bears.

Or Jim on a polar bear rug, his cock hard and weeping, his hands shepherding it deep into Sandburg's ass.

Polar bears. Definitely polar bears.

Blair figured it was about time he let Jim know he was there, before he got himself into trouble. He took a deep breath and started to gush something -- he wasn't sure what, something light-hearted and funny, that would push this feeling away -- but what came out was, "Jim, make love to me."

The plea popped out of its own violation, without any conscious thought, and Blair couldn't do anything to take it back. He froze, his hands plastered over his mouth, feeling like one of those 'speak no evil' monkeys, while he waited for the hammer to descend.

Jim barely glanced toward him, confusion apparent in his eyes, before he turned back to the city and his morning coffee.

Stunned, Blair fell back onto the couch, his legs spread wide apart, cock swinging freely against his thighs. The pieces fell together: the silence of the room, the sun, Jim's negligent attitude. This was a dream.

Arms spread wide across the top of the couch, Blair threw back his head and laughed. Those damn lucid dreaming techniques had worked! Carlos Castenada had nothing on this.

Blair pulled himself forward and leaned his forearms on his thighs, watching his partner, unable to keep the grin off his face. Fuck being kind, considerate or caring and dealing with Ellison's problems. He had a nearly naked Jim in the loft; he *knew* what he was gonna do.

Blair's grin had reached his ears; this was gonna be good.

First off, establish the ground rules.

He kept Jim under idle observation while he thought, watching as Jim left his post at the window and walked slowly across the room, only to stare at the drawn curtains across the window into Blair's room. Jim shook his head and turned quickly away, striding back to the windows and opening one of the doors to take a deep cleansing breath of the morning air.

Blair shivered. And letting the cold air in, too. Man, why'd he have to choose to make his dream so cold, anyway? The loft didn't normally feel like this. He crawled off the couch and paced over to where Jim stood closing the door, and tried to place a reassuring hand on his arm. "What's eatin' you, big guy? You haven't looked --"

The cold was worse where Jim stood, pulsing off of him in waves, an intensity that seemed almost blue-black as the color pooled around him like an oil slick. Jim shrugged Blair's hand away reflexively, a horse's twitch after a fly lands.

Blair shook his wrist; his hand stung where he'd touched Jim, but Jim hardly seemed to be aware of him, with only some sound and the barest hint of touch getting through. Blair frowned and bit his thumbnail, pacing as he thought. It almost seemed like he was separated from his physical form, like a spirit journey or something --

He pulled up short.

Maybe he was a ghost.

Yeah, right.

He looked down at his half-hard cock. Near as he knew, ghosts didn't get hard-ons when they looked at naked men.

He shrugged. Okay, it was kind-of Jungian analysis on the fly, but at least it gave him some sort of rules to work with.

His goal was to move the dream from being focused on Jim's introspective brooding to some kick-ass sex. Simple, right? Except Jim couldn't see him, couldn't smell him, couldn't understand him when Blair talked --

But he had reacted to Blair's touch, not a lot, but enough. He could use that tiny sensation to guide Jim in some way, focus and direct the Sentinel's force elsewhere, the way he did when they were working with Jim's senses.

Blair's cock jumped at that thought. Guiding Jim was always a power trip, if he cared to admit it to himself, and close enough to a sexual high that it almost didn't matter. And the combination of the two...?

Oh, yeah. This was gonna be great.

Blair let himself relax, and ran his hands along Jim's arm, despite the cold, startling the man.

Ellison's muscles rippled with reaction, and Blair nodded. Touch was obviously the way to go here.

Damn, wish fulfillment at its finest. He was amazed at the way his own mind worked.

He slid behind Jim and whispered up at his ear, "Okay Jim, I know you can't understand me, but this is what we're gonna do. I touch you, and you touch yourself in the same spot, okay? Is that a deal, big guy?" His patter filled up the eerie silence of the room, surrounded them both like a comfortable and familiar quilt, that kept the warmth inside.

Jim ignored him, until the moment Sandburg placed his hand on Jim's shoulder.

This time, there was no shock, more a sharp jolt of pain - like sticking a cold foot into a tub of hot water - that quickly faded to a pleasant relaxed glow. Blair lingered over the sensation, letting it flow through him , warming them, until Jim rolled his shoulder and brushed Blair's hand off again.

Then Jim's own hand drifted up to touch the same place where Blair's had just been, and gently caressed the newly-warmed skin.

With a whoop of joy, Sandburg fisted the air. Yes! This was gonna work. He threw out his hands, palms flat and parallel to the floor, bringing the energy down again. "That's great, big guy. Just follow my lead, and I think you'll like it."

His touches started tentative, but quickly grew bolder as Jim followed each stoke, each caress with one of his own. Each reaction he coaxed out of Jim pulled heat into his own groin, feeding his growing desire.

"Like that, huh?" Blair breathed on Jim's nipples and watched then harden into nubs. He ran his hand over the dark circles, caressing Jim's chest like he was blind, noting every nook and cranny where muscle met bone deep under the skin. Blair's cock throbbed, and he couldn't help but reach down and pull, watching as Jim stretched and moved under his touch like a large, well-fed cat.

Passion intensified, need screamed painfully at the back of his mind, and Blair ached to press himself down onto Jim's still-covered cock. He knew they couldn't really fuck, not now, not until Jim knew who he was, but he wanted to get as close to it as possible. "Come on, Jim. Put the cup down, and lie back against the couch. I want to watch you."

Jim hesitated, and glanced over at Sandburg's room, his hand clenched tight around the cup. Blair covered Jim's hand with his own, gently massaging it, getting the fingers to relax. "Come on, guy. You don't have to fight this. It's just you and me. Who else is gonna know?"

Ellison stared down at their meshed hands for a moment, before a slight smile tinted his face, erasing all resistance. Blair easily guided the cup onto the end table and Jim onto the couch, settling him onto the cushions.

Devouring Jim's body with his hands, Blair lingered over nipples, neck and chin, and feasted on earlobe and thighs. He led with his fingers, stroking Jim's thighs, tangling in the short curly pubic hairs, and wondered how he could sweat so much in a dream. His own cock greedily demanded attention, but he needed to make sure that Jim was okay first.

He shouldn't have worried; Ellison's dick sprang free before Blair could even suggest the boxers come off. There was no leader now.

Jim's head was laid against the cushions, his eyes closed, and his hands eagerly stroked his cock; Blair knelt between Jim's outstretched thighs, watching with the movement with ravenous eyes. He cupped Jim's balls in a hand, feeling the weight of them, starting as Jim's fingers wrapped around his own.

Blair pulled his hand away and watched. He couldn't believe how detailed the dream was; he swore he could smell Jim's passion. Blair dipped his head and licked the underside of Jim's balls, watching as Jim thrust up into his hands and groaned. Unable to help himself, Blair flicked the tip of his tongue across the slit of Jim's cock, tasting the slick fluid that escaped Jim's hands.

Blair ran a hand down his own stomach and though his pubic hair, picking and pulling at it before tugging on his cock, leaving his other hand resting on Jim's thigh. "Come on, baby. You're close, I know it."

He licked his hands and grabbed his own cock, making a vee around the base with his fingers, pressing down to keep his dick in one place as he slid his other hand along its length. "I know you can't really see me Jim, but I can see you, and I think you can feel me, even when I'm not touching you." Blair found himself swept up in the words, counterpointing his frenzied stoking like a rhythmic tribal chant. "Do it, Jim. Let me watch you. Please, please, please, let me watch."

Blair's voice dropped to a low whisper, "I wanna see you come."

Jim's head lay tilted on the back of the couch, tossing from side to side, eyes closed and hands moving faster around his shaft.

"That's it, Jim. Do it. Do yourself for me. Make it good. You're not alone here."

Jim's head bent forward as his hips thrust up; his eyes blew open. Blair thought he would scream, but instead the only thing that passed Jim's lips was a whispered word, a name: "Blair."

Shock stilled his hand, and for one instant his gaze locked with Jim's, and that connection was all it took for him to find his own release. He groaned Jim's name as he came; the Sentinel smiled, and reached out to touch Blair's face, the heat of their passion erasing whatever remained of the cold -- then everything dissolved, like frost from a window. Blair came back to himself, lying in a puddle of sheets and sin in his bed, his body trembling and heart pounding in reaction. Daylight filtered through the curtains in his room, marking another day. Blair pulled a shuddering breath, and then another, stronger one, soothing his tension away, bringing order to his chaos. The smell of coffee wafted in along with the sounds of Jim puttering in the kitchen, reminding him of the dream.

A frown creased his face as he rubbed his semen-slick hands, the remembered brief caress still burning along his jaw. His hands trembled and his stomach felt like it had been run over by a semi truck; he had to close his eyes to keep from throwing up. He replayed the images in his mind as his body settled back into itself -- the soul coming home, his mom had called it -- remembering how real it had seemed. Momentary panic grabbed him and his eyes flew open. It had been a dream, right? He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? He spread his hands out wide, reassuring the squirrels in his mind that it would be okay, that it was only a dream. He breathed again, letting it go, moving from dream time to day time, forcing himself awake. It had to have been a dream; nothing else explained what had happened. He linked his hands together over his head, stretched, and grinned up at the ceiling.

Besides, everything's cool in dreams.

He swung his legs off the bed, pulled on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, his hands shaking slightly. If the coffee was ready, he was. Well, what passed for ready, anyway.

* * *

Despite the coffee, Jim must have fallen asleep on the couch, because the last dream he had had been a good one; he awakened refreshed for the first time in days, old fears replaced by remembered desires, dreams he'd pushed away to deal with life.

His new-found incubus stumbled out of Sandburg's room, with bleary eyes and tangled hair, chin stubbled with a day's growth of beard. Jim smiled into his coffee, hiding the grin as best he could, turning his back a bit so his face couldn't be seen. "Bad night, Chief?"

"Huh." The monosyllable could have meant anything as Blair wandered into the kitchen, unconsciously shoving his hair out of his eyes as he stared forlornly at the empty coffee pot.

Jim looked down at his own coffee cup -- his fifth so far this morning -- and held it out to Blair. "Maybe this will help."

With a deep breath, Blair lurched over and quickly seized it, curling both his hands around the warm clay, holding it as reverently as a communion cup. He sipped gently from it, as if his head would break if he moved too fast, and a near-orgasmic look flitted over his features. He looked up at Jim out of the corner of his eyes. "New blend?"

"Yeah. Special order." Jim was amazed at how content he felt right now, just watching Blair drink a cup of coffee. He cleared his throat and turned away, ostensibly to fix breakfast. He felt Blair almost snuggle up against his back, felt the thin shoulder blades through the combed cotton robe, somehow supporting him as he started the eggs for breakfast.

He reached around and gave Sandburg a squeeze, and felt the energy thrum between them, companionable and undemanding. Blair remained his guide, but there was more power there than Jim had ever felt before. Maybe Incacha had been right to name the kid shaman, the way it had been in the tribe. He nudged Blair away with his shoulder and started a new pot of coffee -- decaf this time -- amused at his own thoughts.

Blair a shaman, doing dream walking and all that other stuff Incacha had? Spirit journeys? Animal communication?

He looked back over at Sandburg, whose nose was practically buried in his coffee, and shook his head at Blair's semi-comatose form.

Sandburg a shaman?

Yeah, right.

 

THE END  



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